


Sierra Echo X-ray

by neversaydie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Brock Rumlow is a Scumbag, Coercion, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Depression, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Shock, Steve is an Angsty Little Shit, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Underage Drinking, tags will be updated as we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky thinks he knows everything. </p><p>He knows his older boyfriend loves him, that he only lets his friends do things to Bucky because he's so gorgeous he has to share. He knows his best friend Steve doesn't understand what he's talking about when he tells Bucky the relationship is destructive. And he knows it's not fucking fair when he's given the choice between jail and joining the military, but life hasn't been fair to him so far so why would that change? </p><p>At least the uniforms are cute.</p><p>[In which there's prostitution, military trauma, police officers, and a whole lot of tragedy to go with your uniform kink.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Jen, you are my sunshine.

It's nearly 3am and freezing cold by the time Steve's mother falls asleep and he can sneak out of his bedroom window. It's a complicated manoeuvre, given that he has to haul his 'Bucky-Kit' backpack through the narrow window and out onto the fire escape after his skinny ass, silently, because his mom has ears like a bat and she's caught him sneaking out before. Steve doesn't have time to be caught, to do the whole song and dance of going back to bed and waiting for his mom to fall asleep again, because he's on a schedule here.

Bucky didn't check in at two, so Steve needs to go and see for himself if his best friend is still alive. Unfortunately, it's become a routine.

The Bucky-Kit, a bug-out bag constructed from experience because Steve got sick of fumbling around the kitchen for supplies in the dark, contains the following:

-          A bottle of water

-          Several cereal bars

-          A can of energy drink

-          A change of clothes (shirt, underwear, jeans, socks, all of which Bucky abandoned at his place at one time or another)

-          A battered pair of sneakers (also Bucky's)

-          A thick, warm hoodie that's too big for either of them

-          A first aid kit (bandages, gauze, tape, scissors, butterfly strips, sterile wipes, numbing cream)

-          Painkillers

-          Xanax (luckily he hasn't had to use that much, so far)

-          Caffeine pills

-          A cell phone charger

-          Thirty dollars cash

The bag isn't too heavy despite all the shit in it, which is lucky since Steve has to haul it all the way over to the hotel and back without looking like he's trying to sell huge amounts of crack. Everything the kit contains is something he's needed when he fetched Bucky in the past, after he missed his arranged check-in call and Steve got worried enough to drag his ass across town in the middle of the night. Sometimes his friend has just fallen asleep before he got the chance to text Steve, but usually Bucky's silence indicates something more serious. Letting Steve know he's okay is one of the few areas where Bucky maintains some kind of responsible behaviour, so it's usually safe to assume that silence means something shitty is going on.

Steve is fucking sick of worrying himself to death every night, but Bucky won't listen to a word he says. Patching him up is about the best he can do.

His route to the hotel is shorter now he's walked it enough to memorise all the shortcuts, and Steve hits the lobby at a little after three. This place used to be fancy, as far as he can tell, but it's definitely become more downmarket over the years. The décor might be aiming for Waldorf, but the clientele are significantly more red light district, to put it delicately. Much as it pains Steve to think about the boy he grew up with like that, he does work out of a hotel that rents rooms by the hour. Bucky doesn't really resemble that boy very much these days, not since he met Brock and this whole shitshow started.

There are two receptionists that work the graveyard shift, and Steve knows both of them by name at this point. Tonight he sees dark hair and a flash of red lipstick and relaxes a little, because he doesn't have to bribe Peggy to get a key and Bucky's room number (Angie is a different story, hence the thirty bucks in his bag). Apparently she was hired so her English accent would bring 'a touch of class' to the establishment, but they quickly discovered she was a terrible receptionist and stuck her on the night shift. Steve's happy about it, even if he's sure Peggy's not thrilled about dealing with his and Bucky's little soap opera on the regular.

He heads over to the front desk and leans on it heavily, ready to be asleep at this hour when he's got school in the morning. Hopefully he doesn't have to patch Bucky up this time, even worse if there's something emotionally wrong and he has to drug his friend to get him calm enough to walk home without attracting attention. Bucky's missed enough school as it is, and every tranq hangover is another point off his GPA that he doesn't need if he's going to get out of this dump.

Fucking Brock. Fucking Bucky. Fuck this year and everything in it.

It takes Peggy a minute to notice Steve, and when she does her mouth twitches downwards instead of the usual smile he gets in greeting. Most of the time she's happy to see him, mainly because he sometimes brings her coffee from the bodega across the street (to make up for the hassle of helping him cart Bucky down the stairs and into a cab once or twice before), but today her face falls when she catches sight of him. The expression sparks a flicker of anxiety in Steve's chest, but he doesn't let himself panic yet. After seeing Bucky in the aftermath of some of his 'clients', he's good at dealing with a lot of shit that would have made him panic in the past.

"Why the long face? I didn't even try and hit on you yet." Steve grins as best he can, but it's almost always gallows humour between them under the circumstances. "Did my asshole friend leave yet?"

"You don't know. Oh, shit." Peggy hardly ever loses her calm poise or curses, and when she does it either means she's half-asleep or someone's bleeding out. Steve is still, vainly, hoping for the first option. "The police were here tonight, I don't know what happened—"

"The cops? Is Bucky okay?" Now would be the time to go into panic mode, and Steve descends into it with no warning and a stomach-churning lurch. "Was he hurt?"

"No, he walked out. I think they arrested him." She calls after Steve as he's already racing back towards the hotel doors. "Steve, it's the middle of the night. You won't get any answers now."

"I've gotta try." He throws back over his shoulder as he shoves one of the glass doors open and bangs out onto the street. He's almost vibrating with anxiety and he needs to do _something_.

The cold air is like a slap to his face and it shocks him out of his fervour to find out where Bucky is and get to him _right now_. He's left standing stunned under sickly streetlight, frozen solid like the time he fell through a crack in the pond they were skating on when they were kids and Bucky fished him out. There's nobody here to fish him out this time.

Bucky got busted. Bucky, his best friend since he was five, is in a holding cell. Bucky, secret love of his life, has been arrested for prostitution. The realisation that the nightmare is _over_ is overwhelming, and Steve has to hide his face in his hands right there on the street to handle it. There's almost a sick relief in his chest, because they've been walking this tightrope for months and finally, _finally_ , here's rock bottom coming up to meet them with a thud.

This arrest changes the rest of their lives, but neither Steve nor Bucky know that right now. In the moment, it just hurts like hell when a chapter of their lives ends.

That's how it ends. This is how it begins.


	2. It's been a long, long time

**SIX MONTHS EARLIER**

"Are you kidding me, Buck?"

It's a good night for Bucky, which means it's definitely not a good night for Steve's temper. He has a math test in the morning and walking his best friend's drunk ass home isn't exactly what he'd like to be doing right now, especially when Bucky can barely stay on the sidewalk. They were only supposed to stay at Natasha's party for a beer or two, at least that had been the plan until someone's older brother rocked up with cheap whiskey and Bucky got that look in his eye that meant he was about to do something stupid.

Steve gets in fights with bullies, Bucky apparently just gets in fights with his liver.

"Are you serious? Can you even walk?"

"I'm _fine_." Bucky laughs loosely and sticks one foot in front of the other, pointedly staying upright even though he has to stick his arms out sideways to compensate for his total lack of balance. "See? F-i-ne."

"You're so screwed for tomorrow." Steve rolls his eyes and grabs Bucky's elbow to haul him along a little faster. It's already late and his mom is going to start threatening him with a curfew again if he keeps pushing his luck.

"You wrote your English midterm hopped up on Benadryl and got an A." There's a definite pout forming on his plush, booze-raw lips, but Bucky doesn't resist Steve making him move. The push and pull between them is pretty consistent, and the other always moves because it's been that way since they were too young to remember how it started.

"That was English, you can make up whatever pretentious shit you want and get an A. You can't make up pretentious shit in math." He keeps hold of Bucky's elbow and deliberately doesn't think about how small a movement it would be to take his friend's hand instead.

The past year has been weird for them, to put it mildly and totally downplay the giant bomb of hormones that's exploded all over them both. Steve has definitely got the short end of the stick so far, with the sudden acceleration of puberty leaving him a couple of inches taller but still skeleton-thin, with breakouts and the short fuse of a Tasmanian devil to round out the picture (and three, _three_ tiny blond chest hairs he can barely even _see_ ). Bucky, on the other hand, has clear skin and fairly-even stubble and lithe muscle that's starting to fill out now he actually participates in gym class instead of hiding under the bleachers to smoke.

That's the other reason Steve's having a rougher time with puberty than his best friend: the sudden, raging boner he gets whenever Bucky looks at him a certain way. Or he looks at Bucky a certain way. Or Bucky bends over. Or breathes. Or pretty much exists and is _perfect_ anywhere in Steve's general vicinity. That kind of intensifies the weirdness for him, especially when he has to pretend his hard-on was inspired by Ashely-Whoever's ass instead of how Bucky's sitting so close their thighs are touching.

It also doesn't help that puberty has apparently made everyone _else_ notice what Steve's known about Bucky for years: that he's kind and funny and interesting even if his taste in pop culture is questionable (Lady Gaga is not a musical genius, seriously). Where before he was a skinny dork nobody except Steve would give the time of day, Bucky's lengthy rambles about Lord of the Rings are now apparently _fascinating_ to girls who don't listen to a word he says as long as they can stare at him up-close.

That might just be Steve's perception, but by god he's had to listen to Bucky's bullshit for years and it's not fair that someone with boobs can just swoop in and steal any benefits he might have gained from it (aside from a working knowledge of Elvish, of course). It's not like Bucky doesn't still spend ninety percent of his time with Steve, but he's jealous and possessive and everything already sucks and he doesn't want to have to share his best friend on top of that. He knows he's an asshole, but his hormonal temper and overactive dick refuse to let him care.

"It's just a quiz, relax. I'll copy off Madison and at least pass, she writes fucking huge." Bucky giggles a little, uncaring as he stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, and Steve couldn't sigh harder if he tried.

New-found popularity has led to a lot more party invitations (which Bucky always assumes are meant to include him and Steve both, although Steve knows better), and Bucky seems to enjoy the whole scene a little too much. Last summer they drank their first beer together, grimacing as they passed the can back and forth and tried to pretend they liked the sour taste. Tonight, Steve watched Bucky drink straight whiskey with only the slightest cough from the burn of swallowing it down. He's not sure when the change in his friend happened, and the fact he didn't notice it until now makes him sadder than he wants to acknowledge.

School is slowly dropping down Bucky's list of priorities, and it makes Steve feel uncomfortable when he thinks about it too long. He's not exactly a nerd himself, but he needs to graduate well if he's going to go to college because he needs a scholarship to afford it. He's thinking about going into law, maybe law enforcement if it's too expensive to go the academic route, because injustice and unfairness set his blood boiling even before puberty fucked him over. He gets written up for getting into fights with other people's bullies and getting his ass kicked, that about sums him up.

He needs Bucky to concentrate on school because they're supposed to go to the same college, they spit-shook on it years ago even if Bucky seems to have forgotten that right now. Steve feels like his friend is a little naïve, sometimes, that he thinks people are good because they're nice to him. He doesn't see his influx of new friends as 'they're shallow and only like me now I'm attractive', he sees 'they want to be friends because I'm nice to be around, it's awesome that they finally realised'. People generally aren't so nice to Steve, which he'll admit probably contributes to his cynicism and general grumbling about Bucky's new circle of ass-kissers.

Still. His Bucky. _His_. Everyone else needs to back the hell off.

"C'mon Stevie, I don't wanna go home yet." Bucky whines, in a way that's definitely unattractive and definitely the kid Steve grew up with and not the popular guy who emerged from his ashes. He shifts slightly, as if to pull away, and suddenly he's the one who moves to take Steve's hand. "There's a liquor store a block over, we could stay out."

"Buck, my Mom…" Steve is focusing too hard on the blood-warm fingers laced with his, so he almost doesn't notice when he becomes the one being dragged. He lets it happen, because Bucky is _holding his hand_. "You're gonna get in trouble if you don't go home."

"My folks won't even notice. C'mon, don't be such a baby." Bucky squints back at Steve and beams, the spark of humour in his eyes taking the sting out of the insult, and Steve has to bite his tongue before he has to make a choice between punching him in the mouth and kissing him.

Neither would be a good look, not right now. Not when Bucky's drunk and has spent most of the evening with his face almost in Natasha's chest for how much he's stared at it. Steve finally has his full attention and he's loathe to break that off when he doesn't need to.

There will be other math tests. That's what he keeps telling himself as Bucky yanks him unsteadily around the corner.

"How are we even gonna get booze? You got a fake ID I don't know about now?" It's really a weak, last-ditch attempt to get Bucky to go home and not buy himself another hangover absence from school, and Bucky laughs it off as such.

"Nah, it's easier than that. How do you think I usually get booze?"

He grins rakishly and lets go of Steve's hand as they approach the liquor store to fix his hair (and when did he start gelling it back instead of letting it hang softly in his face like Steve always knew him to?). His cheeks still hold that youthful fullness that Steve remembers, but there are cheekbones starting to develop and sharpen seemingly before his eyes. Bucky looks older in the dark, _different_ , and Steve's starting to feel like he's being left behind in the shadows as his best friend's light only gets brighter.

Bucky saunters up to a guy who's leaning on the wall outside the liquor store, smoking, with Steve trotting along behind him and feeling suddenly even more awkward than usual. The guy is older, maybe late thirties, with the kind of craggy face that is recognisably handsome but doesn't exactly do it for Steve. He rakes his eyes over Bucky without subtlety as he approaches, and it sets Steve's teeth on edge.

"Hey pal, can you buy us a six-pack?" Bucky's straightforward about what he wants, not beating around the bush despite the half-cocky smile that Steve's seen directed at girls in the hall more than a few times. Is he flirting? It causes a short-circuit somewhere in the back of Steve's brain and everything fizzles to blue-screen because _what the fuck_.

Bucky is flirting with a guy. A _guy_. Is he into guys? Why wouldn't he _tell_ Steve (best friend since before time, hello) that?

"You got money, kid?" The guy straightens up and flicks his cigarette butt away, apparently approving of what he sees as his sharp face twists itself into something that looks positive… ish. "I ain't about to donate beer outta the goodness of my heart."

"I've got money." Bucky digs into the pocket of his stupidly-skinny black jeans (they belong to his sister, that's something he _has_ actually told Steve lately) and hands over a crumpled twenty. "A sixer and a pack of cigarettes, cheap. Please."

"Well, you've got manners." The guy stuffs the money in his pocket and has the courtesy to glance at Steve before turning his attention back to Bucky. "Got a name to go with them?"

"Bucky." It's not like he sticks his damn hand out, because even _Bucky_ hasn't been that dorky since they were twelve, but the smile on the guy's face still widens like he's impressed with something.

"Bucky. I'm Brock." He nods and pushes himself off the wall, not even looking in Steve's direction before he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns his back to them. "Back in a minute."

He walks into the store and leaves them waiting outside, and Steve feels the odd thrill of doing something illegal even though it's not technically him _doing_ it. Bucky doesn't seem concerned, taking Brock's place against the wall and leaning back with a studied carelessness that's not careless at all as he texts someone. Probably Natasha, who Steve loves dearly but will never forgive if he becomes her and Bucky's third wheel. Antsy, Bucky glances over his shoulder every couple of seconds to check where Brock is, which kind of destroys the smooth façade he's trying to project. But Steve guesses that doesn't matter when it's _just him_ there. It's not like Bucky has any interest in being smooth in front of _just Steve_.

He even sounds bitter in his head, Jesus.

Brock is back in a few minutes with a six-pack of cheap beer and a pack of cigarettes he takes a stick from before he hands them and the beer over. Bucky thanks him with a smile, which falters slightly when Brock isn't forthcoming with the change he should be forking over right about now. The guy sticks the cigarette behind his ear and smirks that shit-eating grin, clearly knowing exactly what they're waiting for.

"Delivery charge." He shrugs, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that almost looks contemplative. Steve can feel his ears heat up and turn pink as he steps forward, pissed as hell because how _dare_ this asshole rob his friend?

"You fucking—"

"Steve, shut up. It's fine, it's just a couple bucks." Bucky grabs a thin bicep and hauls his friend back, making Steve twist around awkwardly to glare at him.

He gets why he's being held back, even if he hates it. Brock is a hell of a lot bigger than Steve, not exactly stacked but with definite muscle under his dark jacket. His stance turned immediately aggressive when Steve moved, and Bucky caught the tiny shift even in his drunken fugue. He's been pulling Steve's ass out of the fire for long enough to notice when someone wants to punch him.

The people Steve fights are usually more… sixteen. And not much bigger than he is. Not this much bigger, anyway.

"Listen to your friend, punk." Brock snorts obnoxiously, and Steve practically snarls and tries to start towards him again. Bucky yanks him back harder, sloppy and uncoordinated in his intoxication and apparently tired of this shit.

"I'm sorry." He addresses the guy past Steve, trying to be charming and defuse the situation before things escalate any further. "He has a problem with picking fights he can't win."

"And he needs his boyfriend to bail him out?" Brock quirks an eyebrow sarcastically, and it's all Steve can do to hold himself back from trying to smack his stupid fucking face again.

"I'm not his boyfriend." It comes blurting out from between Bucky's loose lips a little too quickly, so much so that Steve feels a sharp sting of offence. What the fuck is so terrible about the idea of _him_ being Bucky's boyfriend?

"Oh, so you're single." A crooked smile spreads across Brock's thin lips and… is Bucky _blushing_?

"I didn't say that."

"Player, huh? I respect that." Before Steve knows what's happening, Brock is reaching out to pluck Bucky's seriously crappy old phone from the hand that isn't tight around Steve's arm. He presses a few buttons and taps in a number, which Bucky clearly isn't watching as he stares at the guy's face. At his _mouth_ , specifically.

Steve could murder someone. Maybe he's tipsier than he thought.

"You could use some new hardware, kid." The guy comments, glancing up at Bucky and making his cheeks darken again. Steve hopes it's just the light, but it's starting to seem like his friend gives a shit about what Brock (fucking stupid name, _Brock_ , what the fuck) thinks of him.

Brock's phone rings in his pocket and he cuts the call before tossing Bucky's back to him. Bucky actually fumbles the catch, too busy paying attention to what the guy's face is doing, and Steve's life really couldn't get worse right now. He's seen Bucky look at girls with a shade of what's in his expression, but never like this.

"You've got my number now. Call me if you need someone."

Bucky looks up at Brock with widened eyes, looking slightly confused. He used to look like that often, when the world and other people were confusing to them both, but Steve hasn't seen that vulnerability in his face for months now. Brock drinks it in, relishes the expression like he's fuelled by the blank slate, the wet clay in front of him. Something that can be moulded, malleable.

"For booze?"

"Yeah. Booze." Brock smiles that slippery smirk that makes Steve's jaw clench in irritation and in the dim light he can't tell if the guy really winks at Bucky before he turns and walks away, lighting up a cigarette as he disappears into the chilly dark. He doesn't say goodbye.

"What the fuck, Bucky?" Steve rounds on him immediately, unable to contain the bubbling fury any longer. He's been humiliated in front of some random guy Bucky apparently gives more of a shit about making an impression on than Steve (it seems like lately he gives more of a shit about _anyone_ than Steve) and he has no idea why. "That asshole was at least twice your age. He might've been fucking fifty even. And you fucking flirt with him?"

"So what? He's hot and he can buy us beer, it's not like it's gonna go anywhere." Bucky sighs heavily with the force of all his drunken sarcasm and it makes Steve _seethe_. He starts walking and tugs a can from the six-pack to hand to Steve, who snatches it with unusual vehemence. "It's just flirting, you don't always have to be so dramatic about shit."

"He stole your money!"

"He stole a few bucks. And what the fuck were you gonna do, make him give them back?" Bucky is the one who rounds on Steve this time, popping open his own beer and taking a long swig that takes all his concentration and makes him stumble on his feet. He definitely doesn't need more to drink, but he's not as sloppy as he could be right now. It's probably the intoxication that lets his mouth run, because Steve's hoping he hasn't been sitting on this rant for too long. "You're right, we dunno shit about that guy. I'm not gonna let you get fucking stabbed because you couldn't keep a lid on yourself. This isn't some kid being pushed into a locker Steve, there's no teacher to tattle to if you piss off the wrong asshole. You can't save the world one brawl at a time, grow up."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, Steve fizzing with reluctantly-quieting rage and Bucky still swaying slightly as he walks. The streets are starting to get noisier now the bars are closing, and a steady stream of drunks heading for their beds pass them before either one can find something to say. They get to the corner of Bucky's block before Steve finally blurts out the question that's been eating at him.

"How come you didn't tell me you're into guys?"

Bucky doesn't freeze, but he stills to a statue version of himself under the watery streetlights. He's too drunk to filter his expression, throw up the nonchalant mask Steve's been seeing more and more often lately, and in this moment he looks lost. He doesn't look like the man he's trying to be, only a little more like the child he isn't anymore. It's unsettling. Bucky has always been the compass by which Steve steers himself, how can he do that if his friend doesn't know the way?

"Is it a problem?" He mutters, eventually, not meeting Steve's eyes. His voice is tight and he looks like he doesn't want to be having this conversation. Maybe he wouldn't have flirted with a guy right in front of Steve if he wasn't drunk, maybe he wants to keep this a secret.

"No, 'course not." Steve shakes his head immediately, feeling the seasick tilt of intoxication prickling at the edge of his consciousness. Bucky didn't tell him he likes guys, and it feels… weird. It's not like Steve told him vice versa, but he's not sure if it's _guys_ or just a crush on his best friend. It's _different_. "I… why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm just figuring it out for myself. I dunno how I feel yet, what I am." Bucky shrugs, looking suddenly awkward and smaller in his skin than Steve's seen him for a while now. He looks more familiar like this, nearly the way Steve remembers him being. "It's been a long time since we told each other everything, Stevie."

Bucky squeezes his shoulder, a far cry from their usual hug goodbye, and finally gives up on staying out all night. Nowadays he seems to be chasing more, more, more all the time, and Steve feels exhausted trying to keep up. Everything is up in the air, including Bucky, and who knows what the hell will happen when things come back down to Earth.

"Yeah." Lately, Steve doesn't feel like he knows anything about Bucky at all. He watches him walk into his building with an odd squeeze in his chest, like he's lost something. "It's been a long time."


	3. You give me fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow is a scumbag, just in case you didn't know.

"You ever had anyone touch you like this, baby?"

Brock's voice is low and his breath hot against Bucky's neck as he cups a big hand over the front of his jeans. Bucky shivers and keens at the touch, hands tightening on Brock's shoulders where they'd ended up in the awkward shuffle of climbing into the back seat. It's raining heavily outside the car and the drumming of penny-sized raindrops on the roof is all he can hear over their heavy breathing.

Bucky's not exactly sure how it happened, but he's in the back seat of Brock's car with a giant hickey on his collarbone and a hard-on pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his pants.

Somehow, his clearest thought at this point is that Steve is going to _kill_ him.

"Y-Yeah." He stutters breathily. A laugh rumbles through Brock's chest and Bucky's cheeks heat up, which only seems to spur the older guy on more.

"Yeah? Someone had their hand down your pants?" He clocks the shudder running through Bucky and the corner of his mouth quirks up in _very_ interested smirk. Bucky's head is spinning slightly, the same way it had started doing a few minutes ago, and it's difficult to concentrate on anything for long enough to object. "Tell me, baby. Was it a boy or a girl?"

He keeps rubbing slowly and talking in that low voice, and Bucky squirms because his skin is too small and he's too hot and he can't think like this. He doesn't want to _talk_ about sex, he's not even sure he wants to _have_ sex, he just _wants_. He feels Brock's dick hard in his pants when he shifts again in his lap, and it makes Bucky's heart pick up a notch. Half nervousness and half anticipation, yearning for something he's not sure he's ready for.

"A girl. We were at the movies." The word ends in a gasp as Brock tightens his grip slightly and makes his head spin harder, the world tilting on its axis.

"She make you come? With all those people sitting there?" He sounds pleased by the idea, and Bucky doesn't know what to make of that. Aren't boyfriends supposed to be jealous of other people touching you?

Brock is his boyfriend now, right? That's what it means when he wants to have sex with him? Isn't it? He can't think about anything outside of those simplistic terms right now, and it's starting to confuse him even harder. Why can't he think?

"You're a dirty little boy, huh?"

"She didn't make me come. D-Didn't want to get it on her hands." He admits, feeling like an idiot as Brock laughs again.

"She left you with blue balls? Poor baby." Brock nuzzles his neck and takes his hand away from Bucky's dick, pulling back to see the pained expression and the whine of distress that forces its way out of his throat. "It's not a nice feeling, is it?"

"C'mon Brock." Bucky whines, clumsily trying to roll his hips and make Rumlow keep touching him. Brock just rumbles out another laugh and Bucky feels humiliated and too horny to think all at once.

"Ask nice." The tone is light, teasing, but Bucky is desperate now and whimpers out the plea without thinking.

"Please." He thinks he knows what Brock wants, he thinks he saw this kind of scenario in one of the porn videos he'd furtively watched on his sister's laptop while everyone else was asleep, and he's needy and inexperienced enough to throw caution to the wind and just blurt it out. "Please, daddy."

When Rumlow's dick twitches, Bucky _feels_ it.

"Good boy. God." Brock's free hand tightens on Bucky's slender hip. "You know good boys get rewards, right?"

Bucky is in way over his head right now, and he's starting to realise it. He feels the strength in Brock's hand and ice-water trickles into his gut when it hits him that he couldn't get away from Rumlow unless he let him. The arms around him are solid as steel and the door locks had clicked as soon as he got into the car. If Bucky gets nervous and says no and Brock decides he doesn't want to stop…

He's in way over his head, and Brock is sliding down his zipper. Not that his pride would let him admit it out loud, but a tiny, slightly scared part of Bucky is starting to wish he'd listened to Steve.

*

If Steve had been pissed off about how much his best friend has changed over the last six months, then the last few weeks have been like a whole other hormone bomb going off just when he thought the debris from the last one had settled. Bucky has been skipping class, not coming over to do homework (mostly throw candy at each other and watch Netflix), and now he's blowing off the English project they've been looking forward to all semester. Steve isn't just mad, he feels betrayed.

"You know, you could just tell him how you feel."

Natasha Romanov, all five-feet of her red-haired, soccer-playing fury, is generally a good person to have around when Steve feels the need to start punching things. She's occasionally tipped him upside-down into a garbage can to make him shut up when his ranting gets too excessive, but mostly she's a supportive listening ear. Especially now Bucky has stopped staring at her chest at every opportunity, so she's not in a state of constant readiness to punch the nearest penis-owner.

She's also the only person in the world who knows about Steve's massive, awful, all-consuming crush on his best friend. Sometimes that's not as helpful as it could be.

"Oh yeah, sure. 'Hey, remember how you awkwardly told me you liked dudes? Well I'm a dude and I like dudes too, wanna make out?' Then he'd get weirded out and stop hanging out completely." Steve huffs, leaning back even further on the back legs of his chair and dangling dangerously close to smacking his head on Maria's desk if he tips over.

"How do you know he'd get weirded out?" Natasha looks like she's internally debating whether or not to kick his chair over completely, so Steve pushes himself slightly more upright in a pre-emptive defence. "Even if he doesn't feel the same way, it might stop him hanging around whoever this Brock guy is."

"They don't hang out. Old creep just buys him beer and pervs on him." The statement is clipped and snapped out too quickly, and Steve can feel his ears turning pink as Natasha raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow at him. Yes he _is_ defensive and he doesn't give a crap. "The guy's like fifty, Buck's not stupid."

Optimum moment for Bucky to actually roll into class on time, for the first time in a week, stinking of smoke and bringing a prophetic draft of cold air in with him. Steve's luck just gets better and better.

"I'm not stupid? That's news." He cups his hand under the back of Steve's head before he sits down, kicking his boots up onto his desk with a disapproving look in his friend's direction. "You're gonna break your neck, Stevie. Even you can't walk that off."

"Fuck you." Steve grumbles, but reluctantly puts all four of his chair legs on the floor. He feels kind of pathetic that Bucky sounding like his old self and expressing concern for him makes his heart jump now. He deliberately doesn't look at Natasha, because her told-you-so expression is the absolute worst. "Was starting to forget what your ugly face looked like."

"I've been busy." Bucky only punches him lightly on the arm at the familiar insult, eyes crinkling up at the corners with the smile he's trying to hide, and Steve is so gone for him it's not even funny. He notices Bucky doesn't even have books with him and his good feeling fades somewhat, like a lightbulb that's still struggling to stutter out a weak glow without the power to fuel it.

"You wanna share my book?" He offers, squaring his shoulders involuntarily because he's pretty sure he knows what the answer is. Bucky just shrugs in response, with that affected-easy lack of caring that makes Steve want to punch him and suck his dick at the same time.

"Nah, not staying. Just came by to see if you wanted to cut out with me." There's not even the excitement of breaking the rules in his voice, the tone that used to be there so recently when they'd sneak out of class and Steve would try to smoke and almost cough up a lung while Bucky laughed. Doing stupid shit is mundane to him now, and it makes Steve fucking angry because he can just see his best friend throwing his future away in the name of being 'cool'. He doesn't exactly enjoy school either, but he knows it's a means to get where he wants to go so he takes it seriously, most of the time.

Their priorities aren't even close to aligned right now, and it's eating Steve up from the inside out.

"They're assigning multimedia projects today." Steve says it slowly, like he's chewing out the words because his temper is starting to fray and he doesn't want to fly off the handle out of nowhere. "I thought we were gonna partner up again."

"Oh, right. Yeah, of course we're gonna partner up." Bucky only looks thrown for a second before he's plastering that easy smile across his face, the one that's insincere and meant to be for other people, not Steve. "You don't mind getting the info for me so we can start working on it later, right?"

"Yeah, actually I do." He can tell that's not the answer his friend is expecting by the way his eyes widen slightly and the smile melts off his face. Steve is sick of covering for Bucky when he can't be bothered to put in the work at school, and he's starting to feel like he pegged all his hopes on them going to the same college for nothing. "You can't sit in class for an hour?"

"I got somewhere to be." Bucky shrugs, looking down at his desk. That's his tell, the little gesture he always does when he's hiding something, and the wave of irritation that washes through Steve when he figures out what it is threatens to make him start yelling in class again.

Three times in one year is a bad look. Once would have been enough, but it seems like people are getting stupider by the month in this fucking place.

"You're meeting up with him, aren't you?" The toe of Natasha's boot is pressing surreptitiously against his spine now, so Steve is pretty sure he needs to lower his voice before people start looking at them. "You can't be normal and stay at school instead of going out drinking for one day?"

"Why would I wanna stay in this dump? And I'm not going out drinking." Bucky hisses, folding his arms over his chest and dropping his voice a lot quieter than Steve has managed. It doesn't help his friend calm down any, and a couple of the people at the closest desks are trying not to be obvious about listening in on their conversation.

"Why else would you be hanging out with that creep?" Steve demands, and Bucky's eyes narrow even further.

"Who said I was hanging out with him? And he's not a creep." He's defensive too quickly, blurts the non-denial out too fast, and Steve's pretty sure his ears are entirely burning up red at this point.

"Are you _kidding me_?!" This is quite possibly the worst thing that's happened to Steve this entire year. Bucky has a _crush_. On a creepy old guy who looks like he probably sells drugs to pre-schoolers. A creepy old guy who, specifically, is _very not Steve_.

"I gotta go." Bucky looks very uncomfortable all of a sudden, clearly catching on to the fact Steve has figured out he has a _thing_ for Brock, and takes a text chiming on his phone as the perfect opportunity to back out of the conversation. "He's waiting for me out front."

"I fucking knew it." Steve jumps to his feet, ignoring Natasha's tug on the back of his shirt and following Bucky all the way to the classroom door as he tells him off. "This creep is just trying to get his dick sucked, tell me you're not that fucking stupid. Why are you even hanging out with him? I swear you—"

"You ever think that maybe if you did more than call me stupid and bitch about my friends lately that I'd want to hang out with you more?" Bucky pauses at the back of the room and turns back at him, and that stops Steve in his tracks because he's generally cantankerous lately but Bucky has never called him out on it before. "You know who doesn't call me dumb and tell me how pretentious and shitty all my friends are? Brock."

There's a beat of silence between them, against the background noise of the steadily-filling classroom, because Steve hadn't exactly seen it like that before. He's been kind of relentlessly angsty lately, sure, but he never realised Bucky was taking his ranting personally. That's not what he meant to happen at all.

"He's still a creep." Of course, it's never been in Steve's nature to bite his tongue even when he should. Bucky rolls his eyes and turns to leave again.

"Fuck you, Steve. Can you just be cool for once?" It's a rhetorical question, given who he's asking it to, and Bucky doesn't stick around to hear the answer. He ducks out of the classroom just in time to dodge their English teacher coming around the corner, which forces Steve to go back to his seat and fume silently instead of following his friend to continue the argument.

He still signs up to partner with Bucky for the assignment, though. Even if his best friend has been replaced with a fucking idiot since he met Brock Rumlow. Steve just hopes he's not doing something really stupid.

*

Bucky needs to put the breaks on this before something really, really stupid happens.

"W-Wait. Brock, wait." He forces himself to pull away from the lips on his neck, even though it's a struggle because every single touch feels so _nice_ for some reason. It's difficult to be coherent, when Rumlow looks at him expectantly, has been ever since Bucky finished the cola his friend had offered him when he first got into the car. "I-I never did this before."

"That's okay baby, I'm gonna take it real slow." Brock smiles, teeth flashing in the dim light caused by the rain, but Bucky stops him when he goes to reach for his pants again.

"I mean, I dunno if I'm ready. I… I wanna wait." His face burns when he finally gets the words out, because this is so painfully uncool and he's still not sure that Brock is even going to stop, which might actually be a good thing because at least he'd finally lose his –

"Hell, kid." Brock groans, tipping his head back against the seat and resting his hands on Bucky's hips, far away from anything dangerous. "You couldn't decide that _before_ you gave me blue balls?"

"I…" Bucky blinks slowly, trying to ignore the dizziness in his head as he attempts to figure out what the fuck Brock is talking about.

"I mean, seriously. You start grinding up on me like a bitch in heat and _then_ you change your mind?" He sighs heavily through his nose, but he doesn't actually sound all that angry about it. Frustrated, sure, but not mad.

"I'm sorry." Bucky drops his gaze and tries to remember what happened since they parked up. Did he start this? He must have, from what Brock said, and he has been wanting to kiss the guy since about the second time they hung out so it seems logical. Why can't he think straight?

"It's okay kid, I'm not mad." Brock sits up again, shifting Bucky in his lap so he's not pressing down on him anymore since things have come to a halt. He looks at Bucky with concern, where he's wavering slightly in place, and frowns. "Are you okay? You look kinda…"

"I feel dizzy." The words come out faintly, and Bucky's starting to think he must be sick. That's why he imagines the fleeting twitch of a smile that crawls across Brock's thin lips, because it's not like he's given the guy anything to smile about.

"You got a fever?" Brock's hand is on his forehead and that feels so nice too, why does every innocuous touch against Bucky's skin make his dick throb? Why is he still hard? "Bucky? Do you remember getting here?"

"I… I dunno." He'd shake his head if it wouldn't make the world spin around him even more. He is _not_ about to throw up on the guy he's just been making out with, he might die of embarrassment. "Not really."

"Yeah, I think you're getting sick. You're kinda warm." His tone is gentle (amused? He can't be amused, why would he be?) and Bucky lets it wash over him in a wave of comfort. He was sure he felt fine this morning, but he must be getting the flu or something. His coke didn't taste right, he remembers, and that always happens when he's sick. "C'mon kid, I'll take you home."

"This is so embarrassing." Bucky whines, sliding off Rumlow's lap to crumple into the back seat gracelessly. Brock just laughs as he gets out to climb into the driver's seat again, and Bucky feels slightly reassured by that. Maybe he hasn't totally blown things by not only being a frigid virgin, but a sick frigid virgin on top of that.

"Brock?" He pipes up from the back seat after they've been driving for a minute or two, with Bucky staring doggedly out of the front window like he taught Steve to when he was carsick as a kid. He carefully doesn't think about Steve right now, because it makes his stomach hurt and roll even more than it already does.

There's a slight slur to his words and his tongue feels too big for his mouth, he must have a fever. He wants to be cool about asking this question and do it in a non-humiliating way, but for some reason his inhibitions don't seem to be working and he just blurts it out like a dumb kid. Great, if he hadn't blown the whole thing already then he has now.

"Are we boyfriends now?"

Brock just laughs again, and Bucky doesn't understand why.


	4. The colour of boom

Bucky's confused. Really confused. Not that that's anything new.

It feels like it's only taken a couple of months for everything in his life to completely go to shit. The last year had been good, he'd been able to hang out with new friends and the partying had helped fill in some of the pit that had opened up in his chest. He doesn't know exactly where it came from, the emptiness that keeps him awake at night because everything is just _grey_ and _wrong_ , but it refuses to go away. Keeping up the appearance of superficial happiness, drinking and making out with anything that moved, had actually helped him keep a grip on himself for a while, kept the looming _nothing_ at bay. But then Steve started getting pissy about him having other friends, and the pantomime doesn't fill in the gaps so well anymore.

"Jim!" His Dad calls up the stairs, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts for a second. He's busy tapping away at Becky's laptop, surreptitiously googling with one hand on the escape key in case anyone decides to come into his room unannounced. "We'll be back around nine, there's some cash for pizza on the counter if you want it."

"Okay." Bucky calls back, shoulders sagging slightly at the news that he's going to be spending the evening home alone again. Being around people, even if it's only his stupid family, makes it a little easier to breathe sometimes. Apparently that's not an option tonight.

He doesn't know when things changed, honestly. His sisters aren't that much younger than him, Becky is fifteen and Ava twelve, but neither of them have hit their teenage angst phase yet. That might be why his family seem to do a lot of _family stuff_ without including him lately. Maybe his parents think they're doing him a favour by not making him go on their family outings anymore, that they're letting him grow up by not forcing him to go to farmer's markets and Sunday lunches at Grandma's house, but there's a large part of Bucky that feels rejected. He thrives on attention, always has, and it feels like the only place he's not getting that lately is at home.

Or from Steve. Not the right kind of attention, anyway.

Shaking his head to throw that thought away, because he refuses to get all moody over Steve tonight, Bucky hears the front door close and sags down in his chair further. He closes the browser window, shutting off his _depression symptoms quiz_ search results without clicking on a single one, and fishes in the pocket of his baggy hoodie for his crappy old phone.

_You out tonight?_

Brock usually takes a while to reply to anything, so Bucky pushes himself up from the computer chair and slopes reluctantly down to the kitchen. He doesn't really want to eat, but he snatches up the twenty bucks from the counter and shoves it in his pocket anyway. Everything about the house feels alien to him lately, the family pictures on the fridge and the nice, well-kept furniture and the school bags by the front door. It's all too clean for him, it makes him feel small and dirty just being in this space, like he's turned up to a nice restaurant in his dirtiest, oldest jeans. Bucky doesn't fit anywhere lately, and he's starting to run out of energy to pretend that he feels like he does.

It's part of the reason he's so pissed with Steve, Bucky muses as he heads into the living room and slides back the decorative bolt on his parents' drinks cabinet. It feels like his best friend does nothing but get mad at him lately, and Buck can't remember the last time they had a conversation without Steve making some low-key bitchy comment about his 'new friends', or how Bucky acts around them. Bucky _knows_ he's fake as hell around people at the moment, but he can't find the words or the opportunity to explain to Steve that he feels like he'll fall apart completely if he shows his true colours.

He's starting to feel like Steve doesn't even _deserve_ an explanation from him. They're supposed to be there for each other no matter what, they _promised_ each other that years ago, and now Steve's shoving him away right when Bucky needs him the most. It feels like Steve jumps at the opportunity to get mad at anything lately, without considering the fact that maybe Bucky isn't doing what he's doing specifically to piss him off. Maybe Bucky's just trying to hang onto keeping himself together with his fingernails because if he doesn't –

The buzz of his phone vibrating yanks Bucky out of his thoughts, and he sets down the bottle he's pulled out of the cabinet to open the message. His Mom only drinks at Christmas (Bucky will have replaced the bottle of gin he's been gradually refilling with water by then), and gin smells enough like his sisters' nail polish remover that he'll be off the hook even if he accidentally spills some. Maybe it should concern him that he's been stealing booze frequently enough to have excuses ready in place if he's discovered, but Bucky pushes the concern to the back of his mind as he replies to Brock.

_For you, sure. Got anything in mind?_

He re-words the text a couple of times before he sends it. If he was talking to Steve, he wouldn't send it at all. But he can be not-okay around Brock because the guy seems to get it, doesn't act like Bucky's being selfish or stupid for needing validation. He wants to be seen, and lately it seems like Steve looks at him and only sees who he used to be.

It's driving Bucky crazy, because he would really, _really_ like to not care about what Steve thinks as much as he does.

_Want to get out of my head. Any ideas?_

Brock comes through for him, as always. It's kind of nice to have someone around who doesn't lecture Bucky about school or grades or any of the stuff that he can't find the energy to give a shit about right now. Brock lets him steer the ride, respects it when Bucky wants to curl up and cuddle or get drunk instead of doing his homework and doesn't give him a talk about how he's fucking up his entire future over one Biology assignment.

_I've got a couple buddies coming over, you can come if you want. Got some stuff you might wanna try._

_What kind of stuff?_

_Chills you out real easy, no bad trips. Come over for a drink and see how you feel, no pressure baby._

Bucky can't deny the blood-rush squeeze his stomach gives every time Brock calls him that, calls him _baby_ like Bucky's someone who deserves to be taken care of. A part of his mind that needs to _find its fucking chill_ immediately tries to imagine what it would like if Steve called him that. If Steve had him in the back seat of a car and held his hips and called him _baby_.

Not that it would ever happen. Bucky had tried to keep his developing orientation a secret from his friend, just while he figured everything out and confirmed if that rollercoaster feeling he got around Steve really meant he wanted to kiss him or if he was just confused, and hadn't been prepared for everything to come tumbling head-first out of the closet on that drunken walk home. He especially hadn't been prepared for the look on Steve's face when he'd asked if Bucky was into guys, that twist of his expression that looked suspiciously close to something negative.

Steve would never admit to it, of course, but Bucky's been pretty sure since then that he has a problem with him being into guys. He gets so pissy whenever Brock comes up, which means Bucky has nobody to talk to about their developing relationship even though sometimes he desperately needs to, and seems disgusted with the idea of Bucky doing something sexual with the guy. If Steve can barely tolerate the concept of Bucky having sex with a guy, then there's definitely no hope for Bucky's dumb crush on his friend being requited.

And he does like Brock, a lot, even if sometimes the guy confuses him and he's definitely not Steve. He's so far from Steve that Bucky feels like he gets whiplash being stuck between them sometimes, which doesn't exactly help the fact that he feels like shit most days already.

Still, he doesn't reply to his (boy?)friend straight away. Instead, Bucky pours himself a drink (small enough to knock back in one because gin tastes absolutely disgusting) and opens up Whatsapp to message Steve. Their last conversation is dated a few days ago, which makes Bucky's chest feel emptier than ever since he can remember when there used to be barely an hour between their messages. He remembers staying up all night just talking to Steve about stupid shit, sending memes back and forth and giving each other shit for being tired at school the next day.

That feels like a lifetime ago now, and Bucky tries really hard not to get all dumb and emotional over it. He'd promised himself that the sore, shallow lines scored into his inner arm, just above his elbow, were a stupid, drunken one-off. He's not letting himself get upset about Steve again, not when things might be fine.

_Hey! What you up to tonight? :D_

It's weirdly strained, too polite for their usual interactions. Mostly they open a conversation just by stating what they want to say, or with something to the tune of _hey fuckface get your hand off your dick and reply_ , but that seems too familiar now. Bucky's kind of afraid that Steve might fly off the handle at him if he called him _fuckface_ , these days.

Unlike Brock, Steve never makes him wait for a reply. Bucky's not sure if he appreciates that or not in this situation.

_Working on the English project. Want to come over?_

As much as he'd like to spend time with Steve, the idea of doing schoolwork right now and the amount of stuff he's missed being shoved in his face is enough to make Bucky feel slightly sick. He knocks back his drink and grimaces before trying to pick his words carefully and not piss his friend off.

_Really don't wanna work. We could hang out though?_

He can _hear_ the pissed-off tone in Steve's reply when it pings up so quickly he must have been just waiting for Bucky to blow off work.

_There's a deadline Buck. We're supposed to be working on this together._

_I just don't feel good ok._

_You didn't feel good for the last 3 weeks? You haven't helped once._

Yes, he has felt shitty for the last three weeks. That's what Bucky wants to scream at Steve until he realises that Bucky's faking his smiles because he _has to_. He knows he's not pulling his weight on this stupid fucking project, but he needs his best friend to act like it right now and help him out here.

_Can we please just hang out?_

_If you're not gonna help with the project then stay home._

Well, shit. He's really pissed. Bucky blinks away the heat that's threatening behind his eyes and switches windows, pulling up Brock's messages to finally reply. He doesn't need Steve, he tells himself, he needs someone who's going to help him get his screwed-up head quiet.

_I'll be over in a half hour x_

*

Bucky's starting to wonder how he gets himself into these situations.

The time from when he arrived at Brock's apartment up until now is a little fuzzy, a little indistinct around the edges the way things usually get when he's drinking. Brock had pulled him into a hug when he came through the door, warm and solid enough for Bucky to hang onto just a fraction longer than was probably cool, and then introduced him to his friends. There had been a bunch of them in the apartment, but they've slowly filtered out as the party wound down over the last few hours until only two were left.

Jasper, a guy with glasses who kind of looked too _office_ to be Brock's friend, finally left a little while ago, saying something Bucky couldn't quite hear about talking to his boss. But by that time he'd been maybe five beers deep and arguing with the other guy, Jack, about something to do with Die Hard. He can't quite remember now. He figures it was probably kind of foolish to drink so quick on an empty stomach, but Brock's friends are pretty chill and don't make fun of him when he stumbles over his words and maybe takes a little too long to think of his responses to questions. He doesn't want to look like a dumb kid or anything.

Jack is huge, built like a hockey player or maybe a linebacker, and only too happy to show Bucky the various scars he's got all over his torso from playing sports over the years. He must have a good few inches on Brock in height, all bulk where Rumlow is lean muscle, but he's not the gruff, no-homo type Bucky had been expecting when he first sat down on the couch next to him. He's even happy to let Bucky rest his head on his shoulder, when the room starts tilting slightly and he needs to ground himself on something with a pulse.

"Your boy's cuddly." Bucky's drifting pleasantly to the background noise of some action movie on the TV when Jack's words rumble out, hearing them more through his chest than anything else. He lifts his head in time to see Brock grin, before dropping down to sit on the other side of Bucky on the couch.

"He's had a rough day. Huh, sweetheart?" Brock rests his hand on the back of Bucky's neck and squeezes gently, and Bucky feels warm all over because it's so _affectionate_ and it's focused solely on him. "You still wanna try this stuff? Get out of your head?"

"I thought I did already." Bucky frowns, a little fuzzy and a lot confused, because he'd already taken the little white pill Brock pressed into his palm when he first got here. It had relaxed him almost immediately, giving everything a pleasant haze after a beer or two, and he'd figured that's what Brock had been talking about earlier.

"Nah kid, that was just something to stop you freaking out. You were so tense when you got here I was scared you were gonna snap." Brock slips his arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulls him off Jack, tucking him into his side as Jack laughs (at something on the TV? At him? Bucky's not sure). "You still feel shitty?"

"I just dunno why Steve's gotta be so mad at me all the time." Bucky mutters, rubbing a hand over his eyes and trying to wake up a little bit. "I just wanted to talk to him and he was so fucking—"

"Shh, baby. Don't think about it now. You don't need to get upset again." Brock is rubbing his back gently and pulling a baggie out of his pocket with his free hand, holding it up so Bucky can see the little pills inside. They look just like the other one, but what does he know. "This'll help. It's good stuff, right Jack?"

"Right." Jack agrees on the other side of him, pressing a little closer so Bucky is bracketed on both sides by warmth and muscle and it feels really, really nice. He feels safe, he thinks. "Chills you out."

"I can't get… like a bad trip or something, right?" Bucky is vaguely aware that this is a bad idea, but his conscience also sounds like Steve and that just makes him madder tonight. He doesn't even wait for the answer before he sticks out his hand, because he wants to get the hell out of his head, bad trips be damned. "Yeah, okay. I'll try it."

The pill leaves a foul aftertaste in his mouth once he swallows it down, but Brock kisses the taste away and another beer takes care of the rest. Bucky snuggles into Brock's side and listens to him and Jack shoot the shit over his head as he waits for something to happen, waits for the buzzing in his brain to die down. Nothing seems to be happening, though.

That lasts for about ten minutes. Then Bucky blinks and he's suddenly on his knees, nuzzling Rumlow's crotch.

"God, he's desperate for it." He thinks that must be Jack, the comment floating from somewhere behind Bucky as he keeps rubbing his face against Brock's jeans like some kind of animal.

"I know, right? He gets like this sometimes." The words seem oddly staged, but Bucky doesn't have time to think about it too hard because there's a hand in his hair, pulling him up off Brock's crotch. He blinks up at Rumlow with his mouth hanging slightly open, because right now it seems _so important_ that he puts something in it.

"Is that right, baby? You get horny for me sometimes, don't you?" Bucky nods on reflex, before he even processes the question. Brock smirks at that, so wide it looks like a real smile, like he's proud. "You wanna suck my dick?"

Bucky must get fuzzy for a second again, because he doesn't remember saying yes or no before Brock is unzipping his jeans and pulling his hard dick out of his underwear. It's not the first time Bucky's seen another guy's junk, he's been in locker rooms and watched porn more than enough, but it's the first time he's had a dick close enough to his face to smell, to touch. He wraps a hand clumsily around the base, because he's pretty sure he's seen that in porn, and looks up at Brock with wide, hesitant eyes.

"That's right sweetheart, go on." Brock's hand in his hair is gentle, carding slow strokes against his scalp, and Bucky leans into the touch as his eyes slip closed. Steve would never touch him like this, Steve would never let him touch his dick. Steve probably hates Bucky by now.

A moment later, the gentle hand is guiding his head down until his lips are brushing against the hot head of Brock's dick. A quiet rustle of fabric sounds from nearby, and Bucky is vaguely aware that he's being watched as he opens his mouth and tries to remember to cover his teeth as he swallows Brock down. The thought is only fleeting though, and he quickly lets it go in order to focus on not choking and breathing at the same time as not biting the thick length sliding in and out of his mouth.

"Fuck, he's perfect." Jack sounds slightly breathless, and Bucky might wonder if he was jerking off if he could find the brain power to open his eyes at the same time as co-ordinating all the other shit a blowjob apparently entails. "You sure he's never done this before?"

"Hundred-percent virgin." Brock's voice is strained, and Bucky can't help gagging as he pushes his cock into his mouth a little too hard. "All mine."

"What, you wouldn't share with your best friend?" Rumlow's dick is pushing against the back of Bucky's throat, and he can't gag or breathe or even move, really. He's not exactly processing the conversation happening over his head, he's just interested in not looking like an idiot giving his first blowjob.

He's not sure how he gets himself into these situations. Really. He can't remember.

"I never said never." Brock's definitely breathless now, and Bucky can't help but feel a little, vague pride as the fingers in his hair tighten enough to hurt. "I'm gonna come, baby. You gonna be a good boy and swallow for me?"

It's not like he can say yes with his mouth full. And Bucky doesn't realise, but it's not like Rumlow would listen if he didn't.

Come tastes grosser than he'd expected. That's the last thing Bucky remembers until he wakes up the next morning, sore.


	5. Kiss the bartender twice, I'm a loser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks, next chapter is half done so hopefully it'll be up a little more punctually!

"Did we fuck?"

The words come crawling out of his abused throat before Bucky has a chance to censor himself. His eyes are tightly closed against the light that threatens his pounding head, face smushed into a pillow that he can only assume is wet because he's been drooling on it. His mouth tastes like something died in it, and his stomach rolls uncomfortably when he realises his dick is hard and wedged uncomfortably between the lumpy mattress and his stomach.

And then, of course, there's someone else in the bed beside him. Who he has no idea if he had sex with or not. Bucky kind of wishes he could just go back to sleep and not wake up until _ever_ , because his bad decisions are starting to feel more self-destructive than fun. He'll still take self-destruction over blankness, though.

"Nah." Brock, then. Bucky's whole body sags in relief when he hears the familiar voice above him. "You suck a mean dick though."

"Oh god." Bucky's eyes snap open involuntarily as his memory comes flooding back, but he quickly shuts them again with a groan because the light makes his entire brain feel like sandpaper. Then there's a hand in his hair, large and rough even as it pets him gently and helps him relax again.

"Couldn't believe it, you got so horny I couldn't even stop you." There's humour in the tone, affection even as Bucky groans again and tries to turn his head further into the touch without actually moving. "Never knew you were so kinky."

"I'm kinky?" His voice is deeper and rougher than usual, so Bucky clears his throat awkwardly and winces. He feels like he's been gargling glass, how roughly did he get his throat fucked?

"Yeah, baby." Brock moves a little closer and Bucky turns into his body heat, relieved to ease the pressure on his morning wood. "I mean, you didn't even wait for Jack to leave. You just went to town right in front of him."

"Shit." Bucky finally forces his eyes open as he moans out the curse, squinting at Brock and flushing red when he realises he's really serious. He's a car crash human being. "Oh Jesus. Why didn't you stop me?"

"It was hot, seemed like you were enjoying it. Pretty sure you shot off just from having my dick in your mouth." Rumlow grins, his smile widening when he glances down and sees that Bucky is hard under the sheets. There's no point in hiding now, but Bucky turns his hips so his erection is slightly less obvious anyway because this is so fucking humiliating.

"I was so fucking drunk." He mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to kick his sludgy brain into action. He vaguely remembers pills as well, but most of the night is a nauseous blur. He must have been seriously wasted to suck a dick, let alone in front of some random guy he just met.

"You need lose your inhibitions once in a while." Brock doesn't seem bothered by the whole thing, leaning back against the wall with a smug look on his face and a hand resting casually in the waistband of his jeans (above which he isn't wearing a shirt, which isn't exactly helping Bucky's boner go away).

"I _need_ a smoke."

"Looks like you need something else more." He lets his eyes flick below Bucky's waist again, and if Bucky's face gets any more blood flushing to it then he might actually be able to get rid of his erection. He feels unprotected under Brock's gaze, like a stupid kid who's going to be exposed if he puts a foot wrong.

Worse than that, underneath the hangover and the embarrassment, is the emptiness creeping into the back of his mind like a centipede. Bucky can feel the nothingness threatening again, and he'll do desperate things to make it go away. Steve briefly flits across his mind's eye but he shoves the image away, because he can't handle knowing just how badly he's about to disappoint the guy he kind of wishes was in Brock's place right now.

He tries to push himself up off the bed, but then there's a big hand on his shoulder pressing him back down into the mattress. The sheets feel vaguely tacky against bare skin, he must have been sweating in his sleep. He feels guilty for ever thinking of Steve here, Brock obviously cares about him being alright at the moment.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

"Uh, the bathroom." Bucky shivers slightly under Brock's pointed look, and there's that naïve kid feeling again. "I was gonna, y'know, take care of it."

"Why do you need to do that when there's a perfectly good bed right here?" Brock's teasing him again, the same tone of voice he always gets when Bucky's being a little slow on the uptake or acting like he doesn't know what he's doing, and Bucky's face heats up even further at the realisation.

"You want me to jerk off in front of you?" His voice cracks embarrassingly, one of those horrible little squeaks he's almost grown out of, which only seems to make Brock's smirk wider. "I never…"

"C'mon baby, it's hot." Before Bucky can get himself together enough to figure out if he agrees or not, Brock is sliding the sheet off his chest and down his torso until he's fully exposed. The mercy that he still has his boxers on doesn't do much to preserve his dignity when he notices the front is soaked through where his dick has been leaking, and he chokes down the humiliated noise that wants to come out of his throat.

"Go on. It'll feel awesome." Despite how embarrassed he feels, it does settle Bucky's stomach slightly when Brock takes his wrist and moves his right hand to rest on his stomach. "You're so fuckin' hot like this, your little cock leaking all over the place because you need it so bad."

"It's not little." Bucky mutters, dropping his eyes shyly as he reluctantly slips his hand under his waistband. He shudders involuntarily when he gets a hand around himself, because he's so hard it aches right now. Brock laughs, rough and throaty, and yanks Bucky's boxers down so his dick is exposed.

"You're right, it's not. You're just so fuckin' perfect, so small." He traces his fingers over Bucky's bony wrist as he starts to stroke himself, giving into the urge to relieve the pressure and get himself off. Brock's eyes are roaming all over his exposed skin, goosebumping against the chill in the apartment, and that's the last thing Bucky sees before he closes his eyes in shame.

Maybe Brock is right, maybe he's as much of a whore as Brock said he acted like last night. He sucked a dick in front of someone and got off doing it, maybe that's what he's really like once his inhibitions are lowered. Maybe this is the real reason Steve doesn't want to think about him being with a guy, because he knows how much of a slut his best friend secretly is.

"What are you thinking about? How you were moaning like a bitch in heat while you sucked my cock? How Jack got off just looking at what a slut you are?" Brock's words slip into his brain like silk, and it makes heat shoot straight to Bucky's dick. His balls are drawing tight already, because it's not like he's being gentle or slow on himself. This is supposed to be perfunctory, the only reason he's not jerking off over the toilet right now is because his boyfriend wants to see him come.

Unless this is another thing Bucky didn't realise he wanted until now. He's getting close dangerously fast, maybe he really is kinky and he just never tried it until he actually got into a relationship with someone mature enough to help him figure it out. Maybe he really likes this after all.

"Don't." Bucky grits out, bucking his hips up into his hand before he forces them still again. He's not fucking his fist to the thought of what a slut he is, he refuses to.

That resolve lasts all of five seconds, until Brock starts talking again and tweaks his nipples (which feel sore, sensitive, maybe he pulled on them himself last night, squirming on the carpet in front of a total stranger) at the same time. Then Bucky starts fucking his fist in earnest, unable to hold his treacherous hips still.

"You're so gorgeous right now. Such a little slut for me, you couldn't even stop yourself right now, just like you couldn't stop last night. You're gonna come all over yourself thinking about how you're my little whore, and you couldn't stop if you wanted to." He laughs deep in his chest as Bucky moans, and then there are lips at his neck and a shudder runs over his skin and makes him almost tip right over the edge. "I'm gonna mark you up, make sure everyone knows who you belong to. You're _mine_."

When the bite sends pain singing through his nerves, Bucky comes hard. Groaning and panting and probably looking completely ridiculous as he messes up his chest and stomach, but he can't stop himself. Brock sucks bite marks into his neck until Bucky's whimpering for him to stop, and then he pulls back and admires his work before he kisses the boy hard, bruising lips the way he just bruised up the delicate skin that covers his pulse.

"Good boy." Brock growls, and Bucky feels weak below it. "Good fuckin' boy."

*

As soon as his friend walks into class, Steve can tell he's in full armour. Against what, he doesn't know.

The black leather jacket that used to be his dad's and is still way too big on him, the Sabbath shirt, the heavy boots, it's nothing like his preppy-boy persona and it's all Bucky's way of telling the world to leave him the fuck alone. He used to let Steve slip beneath his armour, still have a soft smile for his best friend even when the rest of the world was too sharp for him to expose his underbelly. But today he doesn't meet anyone's eyes as he slopes into English class with his hands in his pockets (no books again, no surprises there), and it makes Steve's thin chest clench with worry.

That worry only lasts for a few seconds, though. Steve's concern fades into the background when he catches sight of the ugly, mottled-red and purple hickeys decorating Bucky's neck like cattle brands. Suddenly he's not worried anymore, he's furious.

"I thought you said you didn't feel good last night." He mutters as soon as Bucky drops into the seat next to him, heavy like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Bucky slides down and lets his head tip back against his chair, like he's tired even though it's one in the afternoon and Steve didn't see him in registration this morning.

"I didn't." Comes the reply, hoarse and cracked like Bucky's throat is sore. Steve squints at him sideways, because maybe he's wrong about this whole thing and his friend is just sick, but those are _definitely_ hickeys on his neck, sucked over his pulse like a taunt. Like a claim staked on everything Steve wants but can never have.

"So you couldn't work, but you were fine to let that old creep fuck you." Steve's ears are turning pink as he struggles to keep his voice quiet and level. He wishes Natasha wasn't off sick today, then he might at least have someone who'd rein him in when he got too loud or embarrassing. Bucky won't even look at him, which only fuels his anger.

"He didn't—"

"The project deadline is _today_ , Buck. I did all of it by myself."

"I'm sorry." Bucky is quiet and sounds like he's genuinely remorseful, which throws Steve off a little. But if he feels so bad about it then why didn't he just come over and work on the project? They could have worked this out together like they always have done, acted like the friends they're supposed to be, and Steve doesn't understand why that seems to be so impossible for Bucky lately.

"What's wrong with you?" It comes out sounding more accusatory than he meant it to, and Steve can see the moment where Bucky stiffens up and finally looks somewhere near the vicinity of his face. Now that Steve gets a good look at him, he can see that Bucky eyes are bloodshot and bagged with purple. It looks like he's been up all night drinking. Again.

" _Nothing_." Bucky spits, prickly as a porcupine for reasons Steve can't figure out. They're a million miles apart these days and sometimes it feels like they're speaking a different language. Communications aren't connecting when they used to not have to speak at all to know what the other was thinking.

"No, there's something wrong with you, Buck." Steve insists, not managing to put his concern into words that don't sound like blame. He's pissed with Bucky and it's clouding everything he says, he's unable to let the new friends and the creepy older sex-buddy go in favour of finding out why it's all happening. "You're not acting like yourself. You're hanging out with creeps and losers, you're—"

Bucky cuts him off, voice sharp and defensive. He won't let his armour down this time, won't even let Steve in to see what the real problem is, and it feels like the inches between them are more like a chasm now. There's a drop there that Steve's not sure he'll risk falling into, not for this stranger who acts nothing like his best friend.

"Yeah? And where were you with this stunning insight when I needed it?"

"Probably doing the project that's gonna keep you passing English when you haven't handed in an assignment for weeks." Steve fires back, not missing a beat despite the hollow look in his friend's eyes that's setting off all kinds of warning prickles across the back of his neck. "Is it Brock? Is that why you're acting like this? Because of a creep who's just using you for sex?"

 _Where are your shiny new friends when you need someone to call you on your bullshit?_ Steve thinks, spitefully. He can't help it, he's wounded by the way Bucky's been acting and his compassion is running out fast.

"He's not using me for sex." It's the first time Bucky sounds like he actually cares about anything he's said, aside from the quiet apology he'd given earlier, and Steve doesn't understand why the hell he's so attached to this guy. He'd like to say it's not jealousy that's making him so pissed at Bucky, but he can't deny that's a big part of it. "I needed to get out of my head last night and you blew me off. Brock came through for me."

"I didn't blow you off, I told you to come over. You just didn't wanna work." Steve has a whole tirade just waiting to pour out behind his assertion, but Bucky cuts him off again. This time there's force behind his words, and the scratchiness of his voice ramps up a notch like he's trying to hold what he's saying back at the same time it floods out.

"Steve, I felt like my head was gonna explode. I couldn't face it, I just wanted to be around you and try not to feel like I wanna jump off a bridge." The confession is hard for Steve to hear, and even harder for him to believe because he's never heard Bucky say this kind of thing before. He's been all about partying and drinking lately, he's never seemed sad or self-destructive to Steve. Maybe this is just another layer of façade that Bucky's built up without Steve realising, trying to get a pass on his responsibilities by tugging on heartstrings.

Bucky rubs a hand across the marks on his neck, agitated. He's looking at the clock and probably just waiting for the opportunity to get the hell out of here and blow off class again. There's a large part of Steve that just feels bewildered in the face of his friend's behaviour, because there's no precedent for it between them and he has no idea how to deal with it. Maybe Bucky's taking drugs now, maybe he's really as upset as he says he is. Steve doesn't know, and he's starting to feel like it's not worth the energy to find out if Bucky just keeps pushing him away.

What he really wants to do is pull Bucky into his arms and hold him, show him what real affection looks like and protect him from all the creeps that he can't see are out to hurt him. But Steve can't do that, because it's obviously the last thing Bucky wants.

"I asked you for help and you wouldn't help me." Bucky sounds distressed, like he's trying to explain himself but nothing is coming out right. Steve knows how that feels, and he's almost about to believe his friend and call a truce when Bucky says the one thing that's guaranteed to stop any reconciliation in its tracks. "Brock's the only person who listens to me."

"He's just using you, you moron!" Steve bursts out, and Bucky looks so shocked he might as well have slapped him. Steve barely registers it though, he's blinded by anger because he's been the one who listened to Bucky and cared about him his whole life, and now he's being pushed aside. "He doesn't give a fuck about you, he's just some old weirdo who wants a place to stick his dick."

"Are you that disgusted with me now?" Bucky looks just as hurt as Steve feels in this whole fucked up situation, and Steve doesn't understand how the hell they got here. "You hate me being into guys so much you don't want me to be with anyone?"

"What? Buck, I don't give a shit about you being into guys." Steve shakes his head, some of the wind taken out of his righteous indignation by confusion. When did they get their wires crossed so badly? "I give a shit about you acting like you're in some kind of romance with a fucking child molester."

"Don't call him that. You don't even know him." Bucky snaps, getting up from his seat as it scrapes back with a sharp _squeak_ on the lino floor. "I'm outta here."

"You're gonna run away again? I'm _so_ surprised." Steve mutters sarcastically, not looking up to see the hurt look on Bucky's face, not realising that all his friend had needed was to be asked to stay, to be shown he was wanted there. "Don't expect me to keep doing your work for you, Buck."

"I won't." Bucky huffs out a sigh and sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, closing shakily around his smokes and lighter like a safety blanket. He feels awful, sick in the pit of him stomach in a way that has nothing to do with his hangover. This is all wrong and he feels powerless to tell Steve he wants to fix it, that he wants to hug his friend and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist for a while.  "I'll see you around."

"Yeah. Sure." Steve doesn't look at Bucky as he stalks out of the classroom, cutting out before the teacher even shows up for the second time in the last few weeks. He doesn't know why Bucky keeps bothering to show up when he clearly doesn't give a shit about keeping his grades up and his future secure, so he concentrates on getting his class stuff out of his backpack and forcibly pretends he doesn't care what Bucky's doing to himself.

He takes out a sharpie and crosses _James Barnes_ off the project folder before he hands it in at the end of class. If Bucky refuses to work, then Steve's not going to carry him anymore. Maybe a failing grade will be the wake-up call he needs, the thing that finally snaps Bucky out of his determined journey downwards.

Steve has a bad feeling in his gut from the second he hands the project in, but he steels himself and resolves to stick to his guns. It's for Bucky's own good, that's what he tells himself.

He can't know how wrong he is, not until it's too late to take it back.


	6. lay with me so it doesn't hurt

"Jesus, did you walk through the river?" Brock's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline when he opens the door and gets a look at Bucky's soaked, shivering figure on the other side. His plans for the day are suddenly out of the window, because there's no way he's letting this opportunity to go waste. "Come in, don't stand there freezing your nuts off."

The kid shuffles into the apartment, dripping all over the shitty carpet and sniffling as Rumlow shuts the door behind him. He looks Bucky over, taking in his red eyes and chewed-raw bottom lip, and he'd raise his eyebrows even further if it was possible. His _thing_ for crying is threatening to make his dick twitch, and that would be very inconvenient for his concerned boyfriend routine.

"Are you crying?" That gets nothing but another reluctant sniffle, and Brock thanks whatever deities favour him today as he plasters on his most worried expression, because this is a gift. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I hate Steve." Bucky finally stutters out, breath hitching like a little kid because he's been crying so hard, and Brock has to school his reaction because he was right, this is a _gift_.

"Aw, Bucky." The kid's face crumples and Brock only has to open his arms slightly for Bucky to throw himself into them and bury his face in his shoulder. He's so trusting at this point, and it's a beautiful thing. Brock rubs his back and cringes at the soaked fabric of his hoodie sticking to his fingers, because the last thing he needs is the kid catching pneumonia and setting all his plans back months. "Did you have a fight?"

Bucky nods, still sniffling and trying to pull himself together, and Brock presses a kiss to his wet hair before he straightens up and pulls Bucky with him.

"C'mon kid, you're gonna freeze." He keeps his arm around Bucky's slim shoulders as he shepherds him towards the bedroom. Bucky hasn't been back here without passing out first, and it's another level of intimacy that Rumlow thought it would take him a lot longer to work up to.

He might hate having to hear about the little brat _all_ the fucking time, but this is one time he'll actually thank the universe that Steve Rogers can't back down in a fight. Conflict sends Bucky straight into his arms now, with his best friend or his parents, proving that Brock's method is working flawlessly. As always.

The bed is actually made, for once, and Brock guides Bucky to sit down on it before the kid can think too hard about the connotations. Bucky's busy looking around the room that he never registered in his hungover state that morning (not much in the way of decoration, an old hunting knife mounted on the wall and a faded picture of his mom on the dresser, Brock moves around too much to bother with plastering his passions everywhere), so Brock gets on with looking through his shit for something that might be small enough for the boy to wear. He's got a few of his previous boys' 'working clothes' around, but it's definitely too soon to pull them out on Bucky.

"Here." He eventually tosses a pair of sweatpants and a faded ARMY t-shirt into Bucky's lap, jerking him out of wherever his head is. "Might not fit, but they're dry. You can hang your stuff on the shower rail."

Brock doesn't wait for Bucky to ask him to leave before he walks out of the bedroom, not taking the risk of watching him strip and seeming pushy after what happened this morning. It might be a step backwards after watching him jerk off, but it's important that the kid is the one who crosses boundaries and lets his guard down without being pushed now, otherwise Brock could end up with a lot more than a concerned best friend to worry about. If he pushes too hard or Bucky twigs that he's being manipulated then he might have to skip town again, and he's set on staying in New York for a while yet.

He's digging in the fridge for booze (usually makes Bucky pliable, quiet) when a quiet voice gets his attention a few minutes later.

"Hi."

Brock looks over his shoulder and his dick full-on twitches at how fucking _small_ Bucky looks in his clothes. He has to hold up the waistband of the rolled-up sweatpants to keep them on, and the oversized shirt is on the verge of slipping off one slender shoulder. With the vulnerable, flushed post-crying expression on top of the clothes, Bucky looks more like a little boy than the almost-man he really is.

Brock _likes_ it.

"Hey, buddy." The endearment comes out softer than usual, and he swears it brings an extra tinge of pink to the kid's cheeks. He's so starved for affection that this is almost ridiculously easy. "You want a beer?"

Bucky nods, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip again. Brock grabs a couple of bottles before kicking the fridge shut and slinging his arm around Bucky's back. The boy tucks in neatly right under his shoulder, and isn't that just sweet?

"How come you and Steve had a fight?" He asks gently as he steers them to the couch, because normally Bucky wants to rant about whatever's wrong with him today. The kid is usually desperate to be heard, but today he just shrugs moodily and grabs his beer before he flops down on the couch and curls up, drinking silently.

That's fine by Brock, it's not like he _wants_ to hear about the bullshit teenage drama. He sits down more sedately next to Bucky, close enough for the boy to reach out but not so close it's demanding he do so. It only takes a few minutes of silence for Bucky to warm up and shift so his head is resting on Brock's shoulder, damp hair brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of his neck.

"You like me, right?"

The question is so plaintive and pathetic that, for a moment, Brock actually feels sorry for the kid. Just for a moment, though.

"You know I do, baby." He slips his arm around Bucky's shoulders again and the kid finally relaxes a fraction. He's still shivering so Brock pulls him closer, pressed against his side and warmth. "Is that what's bothering you? Did you and Steve fight about me?"

"He… He said you're just using me for… sex. That you don't really care about me." There's that wavering tone again, like Bucky's actually starting to think about what Steve said. The conversation – the fight – seems to have really unsettled the kid, and Brock will be damned if that little punk Rogers is going to undo all his hard work by being too smart for his own good.

"Buck, how can I be using you for sex when we haven't even _had_ sex? You're the one driving this thing, you know we're waiting however long it takes for you to feel ready. Hell, last night and this morning only happened because you started it." He keeps his tone soft and reasonable, and the kid slowly relaxes a little further. Good. "Steve doesn't know what he's talking about, baby. He's just a kid, you know he's not mature like you are."

"I know… I just…" Bucky's voice is still unsteady and Brock can tell he's trying not to burst into tears again. He swears he never had his emotions bubbling this close to the surface all the time when he was a teenager, but then the kid's obvious depression is something he's counting on to keep him in the palm of his hand.

He just hopes the kid keeps a hold of himself for a little bit longer, because it wouldn't exactly help his case to get a boner right now. The whole compassionate boyfriend thing seems to be helping, so Rumlow sticks to that path.

"It fuckin' sucks when your best friend doesn't understand you. It's so hard, I get it. But I understand you, baby. You don't need Steve to get everything, you've got me for that stuff. It's his problem if he's gonna treat you like shit and upset you just because he's jealous."

Bucky mumbles something watery and unintelligible but definitely not positive-sounding, and Brock realises he's going to have to bring out the big guns sooner than he expected. This kid is a lot of hard work, so he'd better get a payoff soon.

And at least an Emmy for this performance, if not a full-blown Oscar.

"Bucky, baby, you know I love you…" He trails off and pretends to catch himself at the very moment he feels Bucky process what he's said and tenses up. Brock launches himself off the couch, putting on the mask of disbelief and distress that people usually buy. "Shit. I didn't mean to say that."

"You…" Bucky's looking at him with wide eyes, and Brock heads for the kitchen like he wants to run away from the situation just because he knows it'll make Bucky say "Wait!"

"I'm sorry." He turns around with a feigned sheepishness, careful to look anywhere but at Bucky's face. The kid's eyes are bugged right out of his head and he looks so young and so vulnerable, it's difficult for Brock to keep up the _aw shucks_ act. "I didn't mean to… It's too soon to say that shit. I'm fuckin' embarrassed."

"You… You don't have to be." Bucky pushes himself off the couch and pads across the carpet silently in his bare feet, still holding up the too-big sweatpants with his left hand. He stops in front of Brock, too close to be mad about the situation. "You love me?"

"I… I know I'm not supposed to. Not yet. And I'm definitely not supposed to tell you." He tries to look conflicted, torn, and it makes him come across as honest when he raises his head to finally meet Bucky's eyes. "I just… I guess I'm kinda falling for you, baby. I love you."

The sunny _beam_ that breaks out on Bucky's face is shaded in with surprise and wonderment, and Brock mentally thanks whoever isn't giving this kid any attention at home for making this so _easy_. Like taking candy from a baby.

 

"I love you too."

The words taste like ash and betrayal in Bucky's mouth, but then he's already been betrayed by Steve enough lately. He's not about to give up the one thing he still has left in the face of his best friend giving up on him because he can't understand that Bucky wants to rip his eyes out and that _kind of_ inhibits his ability to concentrate on school. As if _school_ matters to him when he feels like putting a bullet in his head more often than not lately.

Maybe that's dramatic. But then maybe that's Steve's voice in his mind, telling him he's overreacting and that there's nothing wrong with him, that he's just shirking off work and doesn't know how to pull himself together and get over it. Maybe it's not even Steve's voice, maybe it's just his internal monologue. In the confusion of the last few weeks, Bucky's not sure anymore.

What he is sure of is that there's a man standing in front of him telling him that he's loved. That's what Bucky wants with such desperation it makes his teeth hurt, and here it is on a plate for him. And he could love Brock, if he got over Steve and let himself, and it's not like Steve hasn't made it perfectly clear that he thinks Bucky is a fucking moron lately. He still knows the guy well enough to know he's not about to have feelings for someone stupid, so there's no hope of anything changing on that front.

So it's partly anger that makes him cross the room and go up on his toes to kiss Brock desperately, but it's also partly because he's sure he would really be in love if he could feel anything but emptiness clearly anymore. And Brock loves _him_ , and that's all Bucky needs right now.

Things get a little blurry from there. It's not like Bucky is drunk this time, he's only had a beer and there's no way that's enough to make his head spin now, it's more the need that is making things hazy in his head. He _needs_ to be touched, needs Brock to tell him he's loved and _show_ him he's loved and important and not about to spin off the face of the earth the way he feels like he might if Brock lets him go.

"I wanna do it. I wanna have sex."

It would be easier if the words could come from a long way off, if Bucky could somehow be in his body but not his head. But he's right here, right in the strong arms locked around his back, dick achingly hard between them as he cranes up to get Brock to kiss him again. He feels alive when they do this, like there's blood in his veins and air in his lungs, and maybe if they fuck then he'll get that feeling for longer.

It's like chasing a high. Not that Bucky knows what that's like yet. Not that he plans to in the future, but then he never planned any of this either.

"You sure, baby?" Brock kisses him roughly and cups Bucky's face in his big hands, and if he wasn't sure before then the kiss and the laser-focused attention makes him too dazed to care. "You know it's gonna hurt your first time, right?"

"Don't care." Bucky juts out his chin defiantly, making the bold decision to grab Brock's dick through his pants. He's sucked it before, even if he doesn't remember doing so, so he tells himself it's okay. It's his _boyfriend_ who _loves_ him, he can grab his dick if he wants. Right?

"Alright, if you're sure." Brock sounds amused beneath the gravel in his voice, and before Bucky can say anything else he's being scooped up and carried to the bedroom, dropped unceremoniously on the bed before Brock is crowding over him and pulling his shirt off.

The love bite on Bucky's neck is still fresh, the bruise throbbing dully with pain when he becomes aware of it again. Brock wastes no time marking him up further, working his way down Bucky's lithe chest until he's breathless and writhing underneath him, arching up to try and get _any_ substantial touch to his dick. He practically loses it when Brock pulls his sweatpants off, that's how keyed-up and nervous Bucky is under his extremely thin veneer of bravado.

When Brock produces lube from the bedside drawer, the reality of the situation slams into Bucky all at once. A trickle of cold anxiety coils in his gut and makes him try to sit up, only to be shushed gently and pushed back by one of Brock's rough hands.

"Shh, baby. Just relax, it's easier if you relax." He presses gentle kisses to Bucky's already-raw lips, distracting him enough that the finger probing at his entrance is a complete, cold, surprise. A broken sound escapes him and he tries to sit up again, but Brock's weight is on his shoulders as he keeps relentlessly pushing in. "Stay still, sweetheart. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"I-I'm not…" Bucky's voice is cracking in all those embarrassing places again, and he feels too small and too soft under Brock's solid bulk.

"You're not gonna back out now, are you?" Brock pushes another finger in, and Bucky tries _really_ hard not to push himself away from the burning stretch. He knew it would hurt, but he wasn't prepared for how weird it would feel on top of that. "I thought you loved me."

"I do. I love you." He tries to sound confident, tries to reason with himself to stop being such a fucking baby. He's already left Brock with blue balls once, and he knows his boyfriend will stop again if he asks him to but Bucky doesn't want to look like a pussy. He's going to have to lose his virginity sometime, it's just one painful time before everything gets easier and feels good.

One painful time before he can tell Steve to _fuck himself_ because Bucky has someone to do it for him. Maybe that would stop Steve treating him like a dumb kid.

Brock doesn't spend a lot of time on prep, fingers Bucky just enough for it to stop hurting as intensely and for his wilted hard-on to reappear, but despite his inexperience Bucky knows enough to figure that a dick is going to feel a lot different than a couple of fingers. He feels like his skin is hyper-sensitive, every grazing touch more intense than it should be, and he makes a wounded sound in his throat when Brock pulls his fingers out and leaves him weirdly empty.

"It'll only hurt for a minute, baby." Brock sounds out of breath, spreading lube over his cock as he keeps most of his weight on Bucky with one hand. Somewhere in the back of Bucky's mind he wants to ask about condoms, about the shit from health class that he'd figured would apply to having sex with a guy too, but all the words are strangled out of his throat when he feels a new pressure at his entrance.

"I… maybe we should…" He squeaks out, every muscle tight with panic just the way Brock had told him _not_ to tense up right now. His hands fly up to grip Brock's shoulders as the pressure just doesn't stop and it starts to hurt, more intense and immediate and _more_ than before. "I-I'm not sure…"

"It's okay, just relax. I love you, I'm gonna take care of you." Brock kisses him and then turns his attention back down to where he's still pushing into Bucky, taking it slow but never letting up the constant, burning pressure. Bucky tries to let the words comfort him (he's _loved_ someone _loves_ him) but that doesn't stop him from whimpering and digging his nails into Brock's skin in fear. "It's gonna go in now baby. Make noise if you've gotta, it'll make it not hurt so much. It's all gonna be okay."

With only that much warning, not waiting for a response, Brock rolls his hips and pushes into Bucky's nearly-unbearable tightness in a long, hard slide.

Bucky can't help it, he screams.


	7. SOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been forever, here we go!

It isn't until Bucky's back at home that he realises Brock came inside him.

The sex was… painful. Bucky hadn't realised that when people talked about it hurting your first time they meant for guys as well as girls, and he hadn't ever imagined that the burning pain would be intense enough to make him go soft immediately. Brock had helped, held him down so he couldn't move around and hurt himself worse, clapped a big hand over his mouth so Bucky couldn't make too much embarrassing noise, and whispered encouragement amongst the stream of filth that always seemed to spill out of his mouth when they did something sexual.

Somewhere in the middle, after a particularly rough thrust sent a jolt of pain up his spine that made him feel sick, Bucky sort of checked out. He'd come back into his body with Brock kissing him, pulling out to go grab his ringing cell phone. It turned out he had to go to work (whatever work is, Bucky doesn't actually know because Brock never talks about himself that much), so Bucky had been bundled back into his damp clothes and yanked out of the apartment before he could process the fact he'd just lost his virginity. Brock hadn't had time to drive him home, had kissed him in front of his shitty building and told Bucky he was fine, sent him off into the scummy neighbourhood without hearing the faint plea for him to come back. Bucky had stumbled home in a daze, not really registering anything around him and nearly getting hit by a cab while jaywalking at the corner of his block.

Now he's here, locked in his bathroom, and he's started shaking.

There's a wet patch on the seat of his pants, he felt it leaking out as he walked and couldn't do a damn thing about it. He figures it's come, in a detached way like he's far above himself watching a movie of his life, but he's too scared to check if it's blood. Something about it, the feeling that he's somehow been claimed and marked, leaves Bucky's hands trembling as he clutches the sides of the sink with all his strength. He looks himself in the eye in the mirror, trying to get his shit together.

He wanted this. He said he did. It's not like he can take it back _now_.

"Calm the fuck down. Calm _down_ you fucking moron." He hisses at his reflection, not sure why he's whispering when he's alone in the house. It kind of feels like if he's too loud then he'll have to acknowledge what's happening, that he's being a fucking _baby_ because…

Because Brock fucked him. And Bucky's sort of sure he changed his mind in the middle of it happening, because it hurt and it was horrible, but he couldn't say anything. But he said yes at the start. He asked for it. He _wanted_ it because he wanted to feel loved again, he wanted that warm high of being cared about. He was the one driving the situation and Brock…

 _Steve wouldn't have hurt him like that_. The thought floats across his mind, unbidden, and Bucky smacks himself in the side of the head angrily like he can force it out that way. Brock _loves_ him. Steve doesn't love him, Steve doesn't even want to hang out with him anymore, and he'd be furious if he knew Bucky let Brock…

After he _just_ told Steve that the guy wasn't using him for sex. After Steve asked what was wrong with him and Bucky couldn't even tell him, because he doesn't even _know_. And now the blankness is bubbling up again and he's _sore_ and there's come leaking out of him and his neck throbs where Brock bit him nearly hard enough to break skin and…

The razor biting into his skin makes Bucky suck in a harsh breath, hissing it out as he drags a second line across his inner arm and the hot burn of his skin supersedes everything else in his head. He's not sure when he dug the razor blade out of the medicine cabinet. He's only done this a handful of times, got the idea off some list of symptoms he was trying to fit the crap in his head against, and this time it works as intended. By the time he scores a couple more lines into his arm, the blood and the pain have him back in his body, at least.

Then it all slams into him at once, that he's standing alone in his bathroom bleeding and leaking and hurting like he…

Bucky drops the razor in the sink and gingerly lowers himself to the floor, unable to hold in the low groan that slips out when he sits down. It makes him feel sick all over again, and he drops his head onto his knees to take deep breaths and try and get himself back under control. He's crashing hard and doesn't understand why, this is worse than so many of the blank times he's wished he could text Steve and just be how they used to be together. The times he needed his best friend to just be with him and…

 _Steve_.

The phone is a struggle to get out of his pocket, but he manages it despite shaking fingers and the clock says they'll be out of school by now. Even if Steve tells him to fuck off, Bucky needs to hear his voice. He feels like he might crack into pieces and slide down the shower drain if something doesn't hold him together, and even an angry Steve has always been a sticking plaster to his soul.

 

"Steve?"

"Buck, hey." Steve sounds pleased to hear from him, hurrying to get his words out before Bucky can cut him off. "Listen man, I'm sorry about today. I didn't realise you were feeling so shitty and I didn't mean to make things worse. I just didn't…"

He trails off when he hears a hitch in Bucky's breathing, a little noise that sounds like distress. Every thought of their ongoing conflict and making moves to settle it flies straight out of his head, because something's not right.

"Bucky?" That hiccupping breath sounds again, and Steve sits up in his computer chair on full alert. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"I… I'm not... I don't know. I'm not okay." His voice cracks, and this Bucky doesn't sound like the one Steve's been watching party his way through the last few months. This sounds like the kid he grew up with, the one nobody else ever sees under the armour.

That's not good.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Steve is already shoving his battered sneakers on and sticking his head into the hall to make sure his Mom is still at work. He doesn't need her to catch him climbing down the fire escape again, not when he isn't sure he has a reason she'll accept. "Are you home?"

"Yeah." Bucky doesn't sob, not quite, but Steve can hear the waver in his voice and it kind of scares the shit out of him. He storms out of class after they fight and then he calls on the edge of tears? Yeah, Steve's not feeling good about this. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'm coming over, don't go anywhere." There's another uncertain sound from the other end of the line and Steve pauses at the window, just for a second. "Buck? Just sit tight, okay?"

"'Kay." Comes the reply, quiet and hoarse, and Steve hangs up so he has both hands to get out of the window with.

The walk (run) the few blocks to Bucky's house is tense, because Steve doesn't know what the hell he's walking into. The front door is locked, clearly the rest of the Barnes family isn't home (Ava has karate on Thursdays? Steve is pretty sure that's still the case even after he stopped being around every day like he used to), so he doubles around the back of the block and barges through the back gate to shimmy awkwardly up the drainpipe. It's not like he's grown a lot with puberty so far, but the climb to Bucky's room used to be a lot easier when he was smaller.

He tumbles awkwardly through the window as always, thrown for a second when he doesn't find Bucky on his bed. He's just about to check the rest of the house when he realises the bathroom door is closed and a cold shard of fear shoots through his gut. In this moment he couldn't give a single fuck what the hell he and Bucky have been butting heads over, because he's straight up _scared_.

Even his crush goes out of his head right now, it just doesn't matter when his best friend needs him.

 

Bucky drifts out of himself again. He must, because he closes his eyes and the there's noise near him.

"Buck?" Steve is knocking on the bathroom door. He's right outside. He's right there. "I'm coming in."

The little ensuite bathroom that had determined Bucky getting this bedroom when they moved in (virtue of being the only boy and the first to hit puberty) has never locked properly, and Steve knows exactly how to jimmy the handle and put his elbow into it to get the door open. Bucky is on the floor between the sink and the shower stall, as curled in on himself as possible, and Steve drops to his knees immediately.

"Buck? Hey, are you hurt?" Bucky seems to snap out of wherever his head has been, looks up and meets Steve's eyes for a second before his face crumples. Steve abandons any notions of keeping his distance and throws his arms around his friend, pulling Bucky to his thin chest as he bursts into tears.

Steve holds him tight as his shoulders heave, sobs wrenching out of his throat like they're ripping him apart. It takes a long time for Bucky to calm down, and the minutes seem to stretch into eternity as Steve gets more and more worried about what the hell is making his friend act like this. Bucky's never been an easy crier, even when they were little kids he'd only shed a tear when he smacked his head on something, scraped knees or anything less barely got a reaction. Steve was the one who bruised easy, but right now Bucky seems as bruised as it's possible to get.

When he finally lifts his head, face puffy and raw from salty tears and being pressed into Steve's shirt, Bucky looks about as far away from the cocky young man he's been growing into as Steve can imagine. He looks small, like he's been scraped out from the inside, and Steve has to resist the urge to kiss him in an effort to make it all better. He gets the distinct impression it would probably be the worst thing he could do for Bucky right now.

"What happened?" Steve asks softly, pulling back a little so he can get a look at Bucky. He catches sight of the haphazard red slashes on his arm and freezes, the bottom dropping out of his stomach as he goes cold all over. This is _not_ something he's prepared for, he would've never expected to see this on _Bucky_. "Jesus, you're bleeding."

"I couldn't calm down." Bucky croaks out, starting to shiver again now he's not being held tightly. It's only then that Steve realises his shirt is damp, his pants are too, and his hair has started to curl where it's dried haphazardly. Whatever happened since Bucky stormed out of their English classroom, it wasn't good.

Steve is already out of his depth, he's certain. That plus being increasingly angry as he puzzles out who Bucky's likely been with since he last saw him, and he's going to have to keep a lid on himself to hold both of them together here.

"Bucky, talk to me. What happened?" He takes Bucky's arm and turns it gingerly, trying not to pull on the cuts as he takes a look at them and sees they're thankfully not deep. He definitely did them to himself, which is doubly unfortunate when Steve would dearly like to find another reason to hate Brock right now.

"I… We…" Bucky swallows hard, newly-developed Adam's apple bobbing hard enough for Steve to see. "We had sex."

"Oh, Buck." Steve squeezes his shoulder, which seems about the safest place to touch right now when he doesn't know where his friend is hurt. The vivid bruise on Bucky's neck looks bigger and angrier than it had in daylight, and his bottom lip is bloody where he or someone else has bitten it raw. "Did he…?"

"It hurt." Bucky's voice is shaking harder than his body, despite how hard he's clearly trying to hold himself in check. His eyes flit up to meet Steve's and then dart away again, like he's ashamed of himself. "It hurt a lot. And then he had to go to work. And I got home and I didn't know what to… It hurt."

Nothing Bucky's saying is really sticking together, not stringing into sentences but rather clumping into chunks of thought, and Steve is really, really worried now. He's never seen his friend like this, the closest he's experienced is Bucky being drunk enough to fall on his ass on the way home from a shitty house party. He tries to think of what his Mom would do, she works in the ER and she sees people in moments of crisis all the time.

He can do this. He has to.

"It's okay. You're okay, Buck, we can handle this." Steve still has his steadying hands on Bucky's shoulders, holding him together the best he can and making sure his voice stays as neutral as possible. "It's not your fault he raped you, okay? We can call—"

"He didn't rape me." Bucky snaps, quick as a flash to defend Brock when he's questioned. The air freezes between them. Steve just blinks for a second, shocked, and Bucky flushes red and doesn't meet his eyes. "I asked for it. I wanted it."

"He hurt you." Steve says, slowly, not sure what the fuck is going on now. If Brock hurt him that badly, then how the hell could Bucky think he wanted it?

"He said he loved me." Bucky shakes his head quickly, correcting himself because he doesn't want to sound like he's not _sure_. He is sure. Brock _told him_ he loves him. He's just saying it wrong and making Steve think he means something else. "He's in love with me. He told me."

"He _raped_ you." Steve is trying really hard to keep his composure right now. He's probably gripping Bucky's shoulders a little harder than he should by now, but it's better than losing his temper. "In case you forgot, you're underage. That means you can't consent. Remember health class?"

"He doesn't know how old I am." That yanks another little hiccupping sob out of Bucky, and Steve swallows down his anger to concentrate on gentling one of his hands enough to start rubbing gentle circles on his friend's back. "I didn't want him to think I was a dumb kid and stop liking me. It's not his fault."

"It's his job to find out before he… does that." Bucky must just be mixed up in his head, Steve thinks, now that Brock has actually hurt him he must _know_ the guy's bad news. "That's not on you. He knows you're young, that should've been enough to make him take a second and—"

"It's not his fault!" Bucky snaps again, flinching under Steve's look of surprise. "He loves me."

"He's a _creep_ , he did this on purpose."

"He's my boyfriend, Steve! I love him." His voice cracks on the last word, and it takes all the righteous fury out of Steve's belly because this is Bucky, hurting, and he can't punch anything to make this better. "Just… Please, I don't wanna fight again."

"Okay, Buck. Okay." Steve relents, softening up and shoving down his reluctance. He takes a deep breath, thin shoulders making the slow journey up and down before he's got his shit together enough to deal with this. "What d'you need?"

"I-I just wanna take a shower." He sounds weirdly far away, like he's not really in the room anymore, and Steve squeezes his shoulder to get Bucky to look at him. Bucky nods jerkily, trying to put his game face on and failing miserably because it never fooled Steve to begin with. "Yeah. I just, I just need a shower. And then go to bed. And then Brock'll call me when he's done with work."

"You don't…" Steve bites his tongue and gets up, holding out his hands to help Bucky off the floor. His friend comes slowly, sluggish and wincing, and Steve is just so out of his depth here. He wants to tell Bucky not to shower because he kinda remembers that from Law and Order, but that thought just makes him feel slightly hysterical. "Okay. What d'you need me to do?"

"Will you…" Bucky swallows hard, pale and drawn as he holds himself stiffly enough that Steve can tell he's in pain. "I know I've been weird, recently. I just… things have been really weird in my head and I don't know how to…"

He trails off into a vague gesture, sliding his eyes away from Steve's to look at the floor. Steve doesn't really know what he means, can't begin to guess at the blankness Bucky is trying desperately to outrun because all he can see is his friend disappearing down a dark path with no obvious motive, but he accepts Bucky can't talk about it right now. He's scared, more than anything else. He's really scared.

"What can I do?" He prompts, gently, and Bucky looks relieved to have a question to answer.

"Will you stay 'til I fall asleep?"

How did things get so broken between them that he even has to ask?

Steve steps outside to let Bucky shower, digs around in his friend's familiar drawers to find Bucky's most comfortable sweatpants and the sweater they got on a school trip to MOMA that's never fit him but has been worn soft and loved over the years. Then he sits on the bed and puts his head in his hands, tries to breathe evenly and get his head around what the hell is happening here.

He can't deal with this on his own, Bucky getting hurt by some creepy old man is way above his paygrade. But then the bathroom door is opening and Steve is back to copying his Mom's triage face as best he can, getting his friend bundled up in something soft and trying not to look at the bites and scratches on Bucky's skin as they're covered by familiar fabric. They crawl into bed together, the habit of a lifetime they haven't done for months now, and Steve closes his eyes and breathes Bucky in as unobtrusively as he can. He's here in his arms and safe, that's what he holds onto until Bucky falls asleep. And then the room is too small and Steve needs air.

He needs _help_ , that's the main thing. He usually feels like an adult these days, resents being told what to do or how to do it, but right now he feels like he _needs_ an adult. He presses a kiss to Bucky's forehead, creased with worry even in sleep, and slips out of the window the same way he came. Steve doesn't want to leave him, but the best thing he can do for Bucky is try to find a way to deal with this. Really deal with it, not put a band aid on it all alone.

"Ma?" Steve blinks hard as the call connects and bites back the urge to whine like a little kid. He doesn't want to tattle on Bucky, but he's just seen his best friend bleeding and crying on a bathroom floor and that's officially hit the limit of what he can handle. "Are you home? I gotta talk to you, I think Bucky's in trouble."


	8. Wrapping up Notes

Hi guys! I'm clearing house on old unfinished fics and giving them some closure - finishing them in note form, giving some insight into the writing process, and giving information about how they didn't get finished in the hope it might be useful to other writers.

So here's how Sierra Echo X-ray was intended to go down (these are my notes from the time, c. 2015):  
  


**Part One**

Bucky is a teenage hooker. He has an older boyfriend who essentially pimps him out (Rumlow?), but Bucky thinks it's love. Steve is his best friend since childhood and hates what Bucky's doing (is a snarky dick in the process because Buck you're a fuckin' moron), but he still sneaks out at 3am to go get Bucky from the hotel if he doesn't check in. there are a lot of perverts around and Bucky gets into bad situations. He works out of a hotel and has some high-profile 'clients' (including Pierce). Bucky gets busted and is given the choice, since he's underage (?), between jail or joining the military (runs up against a homophobic judge??), so he enlists. Bucky wants to sleep with Steve before he leaves, but Steve rejects him even though he has feelings for him because Bucky's attitude to sex is totally fucked up. Bucky is hurt and rejected and that's the last time they see each other.

**Playlist**

Heart of Glass – Blondie

Marry the Night – Lady Gaga

Tainted Love – Soft Cell

Dancing on My Own – Robyn

Don't You Want Me Baby – Human League

Dance in the Dark – Lady Gaga

Stay With Me – Sam Smith  


**Part Two**

Steve has made it through the police academy and is working with his partner Clint Barton (??). He hasn't heard from Bucky since he came back from his first tour with a thousand-yard stare and stopped answering his phone before he shipped out again. Steve and Sam get called out to remove a homeless guy sleeping in someone's doorway and Steve is shocked to see it's Bucky. Who has lost an arm and has no memory (who the hell is Bucky?).  


**Part Three**

Bucky doesn't remember Steve and refuses his offers of help. Steve starts dropping by the streets Bucky frequents, bringing him a cup of coffee, clean socks, a sandwich, little gestures that he'll accept as he talks to Bucky about their past. Bucky doesn't say much until one day Steve brings him a pumpkin spice latte (which he also did in the first arc: call-back) and Bucky says 'I thought you hated these things' and is shocked that he remembered something. (I thought you were dead/I thought you were smaller).

**Playlist**

Ain't No Mountain High Enough – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell  


**Part Four**

Now he's started to trust Steve and believe they have a past, Bucky reluctantly accepts help. Steve takes him to his apartment and Bucky is clearly uncomfortable being inside, but takes a shower and puts on new clothes. Later that evening he tries to thank Steve with sex, which Steve is totally thrown by and Bucky is extremely upset at the rejection and leaves. Steve goes to find him the following day and Bucky confesses that he thought that's how they used to be, considering he has memories of weird sex stuff and Steve. This whole part of the arc is basically a Winter Soldier allegory.

**Author's Notes**

Okay, so where this one fell down is that I wanted to skate over the first part quite quickly and get into the canon allegories, and seven chapters in had barely scratched the surface. At the pace the story was unfolding it would take at least another seven-plus chapters to naturally reach the end of part one, and I didn't have enough love for the story to turn it into a saga.

I also allowed myself to be talked into dealing with the subject matter in a way I didn't feel comfortable with - some of which I've taken out of the notes. I wanted the story to be more about grooming and influence and a much closer brainwashing allegory, and never really wanted to show any on-screen sex. Being a people pleaser did not serve this story well!

Lesson for other writers: if your content makes you uncomfortable, you're not gonna be able to sustain a story around it. Write for your comfort level.

On the bright side, I really liked the way Steve came off in this fic as an angry, awkward teenager and think that worked pretty well as a character piece. Steve Rogers Being Ravaged By Puberty was the main positive outcome here.

I'll be answering any questions about the story in the comments. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at saferforeveryone.tumblr.com for gay shit.
> 
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!


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